Ugh, slushy snow. We had grits with parmesan, garlic, and parsley tonight along with our Korean-style grilled tuna; they were pretty good, although I am disappointed at the rather small fiber content per serving (2 g). I am fascinated and determined to achieve the level of daily fiber that Dr. Weil suggests: 40 grams. I think I usually get about 20, and that's with eating high-fiber oatmeal for breakfast (7 g). Oh well. Speaking of food, I signed up for beginning conversational German through the CCBC continuing ed program and while I was talking to to woman signing me up, she recommended a "Moroccan" place in Northeast Baltimore. A few of my friends and I went Saturday night. It was okay; it was in a strip mall, a little overpriced for what you got, and they actually billed themselves as an Egyptian place, although they seemed like a hybrid most of all and served brick-oven pizzas and such.



Snow and slush, blech! The weather has been miserable for my skin, although not as bad as normal on my mind, since I've been exercising pretty routinely for over a year now. It's strange how you gradually become to accept exercise as a routine part of your life, just like eating. I never thought I'd say that.



I'm about 100 pages into the Mandela autobiography. I must admit, I really like it! I didn't think I would at all. There's something about this prose, very clear and simple, along with his modest accounting of his life, that's very appealing. I thought I would get bogged down on the African names and places, but he makes everything, from the small village of his birth to the "metropolis" that was Joannesburg in the 1950s, seem so vibrant and alive. You know that author has done his or her job as storyteller when you have a desire to wrinkle time and visit, to be alive and experience the same things the author has experienced. If I can be half of that as a writer, then I'll be happy.



I've been listening to a Death Cab for Cutie cover of Secret Star's "Wait." It sounds as if DCFC had written it. No surprises. Speaking of music (a big leap here, I know), can someone tell me the history of the word Pinkerton? Aside from being the title of a Weezer album, does it have a literary reference (some Sinclair Lewis-esque) or perhaps it is similiar to the concept of Levittown? Inquiring minds (at least mine) want to know.